I wrote recently about my shortcomings as an RV owner in a
post titled, “It’s Not the Tools, It’s the Carpenter;” however, sometimes it IS
the tool.
And of course, my sir name
being Murphy and all, sometimes it’s both.
Which brings me to my RV’s GPS
– which must stand for Goshdarn Piece of S...!
My RAM 2500, of which I’ve written
glowingly, did not have an available navigation system that was suitable for
RV’s, trucks, or other commercial vehicles. I found this a little strange since
owners of heavy duty pickup trucks frequently encounter pesky things like
height and weight restrictions – not to mention that a 2500 or 3500 registered
in New York State
requires commercial plates.
So, being the conscientious RVers that we are, we purchased
a GPS that was specifically designed for
RVing. You actually enter the height,
weight, length, and width of your vehicles into the GPS
and it’s supposed to keep you off roads where you don’t belong –
theoretically. When I tell you that I’ve
screamed at this device at the top of my lungs to do something that is
anatomically impossible – I’m not exaggerating. When I tell you that I’ve
gently cajoled the machine in an effort to get some clear guidance – I’m not
exaggerating. When I tell you that my wife took the machine’s side in an
argument – I’m not exaggerating. When I tell you that this thing took us down a
snowmobile trail – I’m not exaggerating.
The first time I towed the rig (other than training) was
when we picked it up in Pennsylvania
and took it to it’s storage location in the Catskills. For some unexplainable reason the GPS
took us off Route 17 (major highway and truck route), put me onto a road with
low vertical clearance – where I was forced to make my first u-turn, and took
me up and down an ice-covered mountain.
When I say mountain – I mean mountain.
It was over a mile up and over a mile down. At times the pitch was 45 degrees. And it was
covered with ice. The truck screamed
while climbing. I screamed while
descending. Even in low gear, the brakes were about on fire by the time I got
to the bottom of the mountain.
On a stop-over in Maryland
we were buried in snow. It was around 8 P.M. when the snow finally stopped and we had
to leave very early the next morning. Cleaning
off the roof was pretty simple but we had the slides out and I had no way of
getting up there to clean them off. I
needed a ladder. We looked up the
address of the nearest Home Depot and I plugged it into the GPS. Me and snow plows were the only things on the
roads. The GPS
got me to the neighborhood of the Home Depot but then the fun started. “Drive 500 feet and make a U-turn.” OK. “Drive
500 feet and make a U-turn.” “Drive…” You get the picture.
Anyway, I give up on the GPS,
find a poor local digging his car out, and he gives me directions to the Home
Depot. Turns out that the GPS
had me driving in a circle past the street I needed to turn down to find the store. I don’t know why – unless she was ticked off
about me cursing her out. So I pull up
in front of the Home Depot. Just to be
clear, I’m looking at the giant sign and I’m about 20 feet from the door. As I put the truck in park I hear, “Drive 500
feet and make a U-turn.” My reply cannot be printed here.
-Bill